


The Property of S. Holmes. Return if Found.

by SherlocksSister



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dog Tags, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Red Pants, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksSister/pseuds/SherlocksSister
Summary: For the renewed Red Pants Monday over on Twitter. For the prompt 'Dog Tags'.A case brings Sherlock a new friend.





	The Property of S. Holmes. Return if Found.

He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end and heart pounding. He strained to hear something, anything in the silence. 

The peace was shattered by a simultaneous high pitched wail followed immediately by someone yelling his name. Sherlock in danger, John's hindbrain informed his legs. His conscious thoughts were all forming the single word; tea.

Half pulling on a t-shirt, John galloped down the stairs, looking around for a weapon, anything. The whimpering wail came again, immediately followed by Sherlock's clearly pained shout of his name.

Bursting through the living room door, golf club held over his head, John found Sherlock on the sofa. He had his hands over his ears and was rocking gently to and fro.

"Joh…… " He bellowed, apparently unaware of his flatmate's arrival in the room but coming up short as John's bare feet appeared on the ground in front of him and his hands were gently prised from his ears.

"Jesus, Sherlock, I'm here, I'm here! What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I just can't do it anymore, I simply can't". His final word was all but drowned out by the heart-breakingly plaintive wail that came from the corner of the room. The wail escalated in volume but dropped in pitch to become a howl. Sherlock clamped his hands over his ears once more.

"Make. It. Stop." He growled back through clenched teeth.

John was already on his hands and knees, trying to find the source of the wailing. The brand new soft bed bought only 12 hours ago was still in place in front of the fire, but was now empty. 

John continued his hunt at ground level, edging towards the desk.

"Oh, John, be careful I think there may be…."

"Too late mate, I've found it." John's hand had landed into a very wet patch on the rug. He wiped it on his pajamas, not that it helped much.

"Come on, it's ok. I won't hurt you," he crooned at the desk, "Just come here, I don't mind the puddle." 

A very small, shiny nose peeped out from the desk and, with great care, John stretched out, fingers reaching warm soft fur. Sliding his hand under a tiny, furry belly, he scooped up a white and tan Jack Russell puppy and brought it to his chest, stroking ears and whispering comforting nonsense. As the pup nestled into the warmth of his bare chest, John glanced over at Sherlock, who now sported a glower and a very prominent bottom lip. 

"Oh, don't be jealous, he's just a baby. I did try to warn you there would be trouble."

"I tried, John". Sherlock flounced to his feet, striding to the kitchen and flicking the kettle on. John sent up a silent prayer of thanks. "He wouldn't settle. He doesn't like me." Sherlock turned his back to John, pulling out mugs and tea bags. 

"They warned us this would take time. You saw how they were treated. It's bad enough he's so young, but he's also alone for the first time, in addition to all the trauma." John swallowed hard, trying not to think about the case and the sights they had seen. It had taken Sherlock a week to uncover the full extent of the puppy farm ring, the selling of puppies way before they were ready to be separated from their mothers. The horrendous conditions of the dogs and their location would take him a long time to forget. 

Sherlock had vomited. Everyone working the case had been shocked; human murders excited him but this was what upset him? John hadn't been a bit surprised, and when Sherlock had insisted they keep one of the numerous puppies now in need of rehoming, John hadn't the heart to argue. Clearly this meant a huge amount to his flatmate.

"I wasn't prepared for the wailing. It's, it's…."

"Heart breaking?"

"Yes." Sherlock approached the pair, tea in hand for John. "He's asleep. Here, let me take him". John handed over the tiny, warm bundle, aiming the pup's nose for Sherlock's armpit, just the way the dog had settled on him. Instantly, the dog began to sniffle and whimper again.

"Here, take him". Sherlock shoved the puppy at John, "I told you he didn't like me. We'll have to get him new dog tags." In addition to the bed, collar and food, Sherlock had insisted they get the puppy a tag in the shape of a bone, engraved with "Angus. Property of S. Holmes. Please call 020 7076 7856 if found."

The sheen over Sherlock's eyes was clear and John was overwhelmed by the desire to make this better. Sherlock was rejected enough by people, he hated to see it happen again. As he watched Sherlock's eyes linger on the small dog, he had a flash of inspiration.

"He just likes the smell of me. It's all part of the settling in process. Let's get him something of mine that smells like me and then he might settle with you."

"O...Kay." Sherlock was dubious.

Heading to the laundry basket in the kitchen corner, John tipped its contents over the floor, hunting for something he didn't mind parting with. He had settled on an old green t-shirt when Angus jumped from Sherlock's lap and began sniffing and pulling at things until he grabbed a particular bit of fabric and ran away with it.

A deep chuckle from the sofa brought John's head up just in time to see Angus with his new treasure turning around and around on Sherlock's lap, wrapping himself in the new comforter. Sherlock was a little flushed and as John realised what Angus had stolen, he felt his own colour rise. There, in Sherlock's lap, was a tiny Jack Russell puppy, wrapped in John's smallest, tightest pair of red pants. 

"He, um….", John's voice croaked, "seems happy enough now".

"Quite." Sherlock replied. He leaned over the contented bundle, lifted a droopy ear and whispered, "and you have excellent taste."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I may have a Jack Russell and yes he is a rescue dog. Rescue All the dogs. Tell them Sherlock sent you.


End file.
